Cold Comfort
by anonymouth
Summary: It wasn't about desire, or passion, or want, but the need for comfort; to feel real again.  Once again useless at titles!


_Written for the new femmeslash challenge_

_Pairing: Hermione Granger/ Cho Chang_

_Prompt: Morbid_

**_I'm not entirely happy with this, but it's the best I could come up with, and I hope it fits requirements!

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She found her sitting in the owlery. Her breath came in short bursts, the dense puffs of air seemed to hang heavily around her head before finally mingling with the light dust in the air caused by the snow.

Hermione sighed softly at the sight, before she gingerly picked her way up the last of the step, over the owl debris and lowered herself to sit next to Cho Chang. The only acknowledgment that the black-haired girl gave to Hermione's presence was to wipe her tears away with her sleeve. Hermione shrugged one arm out of her new winter coat and shuffled closer so she could wrap a little of it around Cho - her hands were such a mixture of blue and red that they were almost purple.

Cho caught Hermione's eyes and blinked, surprised.

"You'll catch your death." Hermione answered the silent question, then visibly cringed at her flippant use of the term. "I'm sorry, I-"

Cho cut her off, her eyes flashing hurt, but her tone leaving no doubt that she had heard enough of that word to last a lifetime.

"It's fine, Hermione. Thank you."

When she ventured nothing further, Hermione bit her lip before willing a calm that she really did not feel to settle over her.

"So you and Harry kissed."

It wasn't as if she hadn't been expecting it, but when Cho sobbed loudly, Hermione felt a rising panic. Gingerly, she put her arm around the other young woman. She felt Cho stiffen before relaxing into her, and could tell by the way her body shook that she was holding in more tears than those that fell.

She wondered if this was how she grieved; alone, silent. She knew that Harry, sometimes, when he thought of his parents, needed to be alone. He hated people seeing him weak, but more than that, sometimes he wanted to be alone with the only memories he had, though they stemmed from other people. She tried to imagine what Cho felt; whether any of her friends had done the same. People worried about her crying all alone, but sometimes, it was easier to be alone by yourself than alone in a crowd.

"I kissed him.' Cho said quietly, breaking Hermione's trail of thoughts. Those few words held so much sorrow and unanswered questions; it was more than a statement of fact, Hermione knew; it was an admission of tortuous unanswered questions, and doubt, and regret.

"You kissed him because you wanted to." she answered. She felt Cho stiffen, and acknowledged the surprised look with an even stare of her own. Wallowing in guilt wouldn't help anyone in the long run. "Because you've wanted to for a while, even before you were with Cedric. You are young, Cho; we're all young. You felt something for Harry, just as you felt something for Cedric. If he was still alive, that kiss may not have happened, but then again, it might have. Perhaps you had something special with Cedric, but then again perhaps you wouldn't have lasted. It doesn't mean that you are not allowed something special with anyone else, or that you have betrayed him in any way."

"But he's not even cold." Cho whispered, the sound a strangled sob.

"I know-"

Cho cut Hermione off with a shove and a heartfelt screech.

"You know? What could you possibly know? You don't know anything about me; about my life; about what I think or feel...you know nothing!"

Hermione waited for the rant to calm, for the body next to hers to marginally relax again before she once again put her arm around the other girl.

"I know you feel guilty," she began softly, running her hand through the other girl's hair, intent on soothing. "I know you think you've cheated, think you've insulted his memory. You think that if anyone else finds out they'll see you as heartless. All you did, Cho, was try to find a moment of comfort with someone who understands; with perhaps the only person who can understand right now. Was it a passionate kiss?"

Cho snorted softly, and unceremoniously wiped her nose in the sleeve of Hermione's coat.

"No," she whispered, then half-laughed. "No; I cried. It was wet. But...but it was Harry, and I wanted to kiss Harry, before...before Cedric..."

"But it wasn't the Harry from back then; it was the Harry that understood something of what you were going through; it was the Harry that just wanted to make you forget, if only for a moment; it was the Harry that just wanted to make things right. It wasn't about the kiss, and who did what fist; it was just about comfort, and...wanting to feel."

Cho began to cry in earnest then, and it was all Hermione could do to keep hold of her, to run her hand in soft circles around her back; to whisper nonsensical words until the sobbing subsided and all the outward evidence of grief left were snail trails of tears down rosy cheeks.

"Am I a bad person, Hermione? Was Cedric such a bad person?"

Hermione tightened her grip.

"Cedric wasn't a bad person; he embraced life and all its challenges to the full. There's just...there are some things that not even the bravest people stand a chance against. And you...you are dealing with grief. And there is no template for that; no spell that can make it go away, or make it a universal feeling. And Cedric would understand."

Cho sniffed, her head now resting on Hermione's shoulder, her hand somehow now entwined with Hermione's; her fingers making nervous patterns along the back of Hermione's warmer, firmer skin.

"I don't want Harry to hate me. But I don't want his pity, either. Just like I don't want yours. And I don't need fixing."

Hermione gently lifted Cho's chin until their eyes met; puffy, red-rimmed dark meeting a clear, chocolate stare.

"I can't speak for other people, but I don't pity you. And I don't want to fix you. But I'm here for you, for whatever you need. Even if it's just someone to scream at. Because I know it's hard, when no one else understands."

Cho looked at her questioningly. Hermione smiled softly.

"I don't pretend to know what this feels like for you; but I do know how it feels to feel different; to not be able to slot right in with everyone else and their daily lives. So I'm here for you, if you want me to be. Whenever you want me to be."

Cho searched Hermione's eyes until, satisfied, she slowly closed the gap between them and softly kissed Hermione's cheek.

"Thank you." she breathed, and laid her head back on Hermione's shoulder, who said nothing, merely pulled Cho closer and wrapped her coat tighter around them.

Hermione had no idea how long they sat huddled together in the freezing owlery; or who made the first move and who helped who to their feet. But she can remember heading towards the castle, and feeling a cold, slender hand slip into hers, and she can remember the light squeeze that her hand received. And she can remember the haunting eyes just before they parted ways; the haunting eyes with the hint of hopefulness trying to struggle through. And the next day, and the day after, and every day until she is no longer needed, or until they finally decide to give in to the harshness of the Scottish weather and find shelter inside, she returns to the owlery. And one day she has no idea whose lips find whose first, or who leads who down from the tower and inside to a snug corner where their lips continue to aid the warming process, but she knows that it is not about guilt, or regret, or bitterness, or even passion and desire on either of their parts; but it is about hope, and longing, and comfort, and just...wanting to feel real again, in a way that they couldn't find with anyone else.


End file.
